


The Truth Will Out

by Irisi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Half-Blood Prince, Manipulative Dumbledore, Multi, Politics, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Veela
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:00:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1386838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irisi/pseuds/Irisi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How much trust should a child put in a stranger? What about generations of children vulnerable to the manipulation of a single authority figure? Just how untrustworthy was Albus Dumbledore?</p><p>When Tom Riddle regains his sanity , Harry claims his independence and Sirius seeks his birthright the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black will rise and shine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth Will Out

It was long past midnight and the British Prime Minister stood dazed watching the fireplace burning orange. It was a perfectly ordinary fireplace - white marble with streaks of silver, black and grey, a mantelpiece with leather-bound books, gilded bookends and of course a clock inset a golden statue of a lion. Perhaps not an ordinary fireplace then, but still like normal fireplaces it didn’t normally burn with a green flame or serve as a portal for wizards.

Truthfully nothing could be said to be normal about this fireplace. Six years ago, when he first took office, a portrait hanging on the wall announced the Minister for Magic was about to arrive. The idea of a speaking portrait and a Minister for Magic was ridiculous enough, and then said Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, promptly walked out of the seemingly normal fireplace, from seemingly nowhere.

The Prime Minister was not an alcoholic, but that evening he drank himself into such an incredible stupor losing all self preservation instincts and began to babble to any Downing Street aid within grabbing reach. They were convinced he merely overindulged in celebrating his new office so for the sake of his political integrity agreed to forget it ever happened. He himself was convinced that it was merely a drunken hallucination until he met him again. And resorted again to the bottle.

Since that second encounter the uppermost draw on the left of his desk contained a very good and very expensive Scotch. It was very good because he has standards. And it was very expensive to dissuade him from actually becoming alcohol dependant in non-magically induced situations. Tonight he needed that Scotch.

A few moments ago that orange flame had been burning green. The reason it had been burning at all in July was because it was an unnaturally cold and misty night. Because the Dementor's were breeding they said. The creatures that drain the hope and happiness from people. The creatures that were supposed to be guarding the Wizard prison Azkaban. The creatures who abandoned their posts to join He Who Must Not Be Named along with a number of the prisoners who escaped in the mass breakout from said prison.

The Muggle Prime Minister had said, as the New Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, and the former Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, walked into his fireplace, 'But for heaven's sake - you're wizards! You can do magic! Surely you can sort out - well - anything!' 

But the wizards vanished into the brilliant green fire replying only the disconcerting words: 'The trouble is, the other side can do magic too, Prime Minister.' Then the fire returned to its natural orange hue.

After a few minutes of standing wide eyed and jaw dropped with despairing belief at the Wizards’ failure to offer any tangible reassurance the Prime Minister staggered backwards and fell. He howled. He had knocked his knee hard into his desk as he fell, the contents of the uppermost drawer on the left to chink violently. The distinctive sound of smashing glass muffled by antique oak. Being concerned more for the state of his precious stash than the state of his knee, he rushed to open the drawer fumbling, slipping, then entirely dropping the drawer onto his foot. He howled again but then huffed with eager relief as he extracted his treasure Scotch intact. The glass tumbler however was smashed thoroughly. Several shards were embedded in the Prime Minister's now bleeding hand which was clutching the bottle. Seeing no other option the Scot took a swig of his Scotch directly from the bottle.  
'Sir?' A deep voice called.

'GAH!' He leapt up, unheeding of his knee and tightly clutching his bottle despite the shards cutting deeper into him. 'KINGSLEY! Kingsley Shacklebolt! You're a wizard!'

“Yes, sir I am.” The dark skinned man smirked at him. “Are you okay, sir? You seemed to have made a lot of noise.”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. What was all of that nonsense about breeding monsters and prison breakouts? It’s true isn’t it! Oh God!” The Prime Minister took another swig of his alcoholic crutch.

Kingsley reached into his interior jacket pocket - dressed convincingly normal for a wizard, no wonder he passed by unsuspected - and withdrew a polished stick. No a wand! “What are you doing!”

“Reparo.” The glass shards embedded in the Prime Minister’s hand shot out joining the pieces scattered in the fallen drawer reforming the tumbler as if it were new. “You’ll likely be wanting that, sir?”

The Prime Minister stared at the glass distrustfully. “Thank y.. wait, why?”

“You have guests waiting.”

“At this hour!”

“You had two guests just now.”

“But they were wizards! They just turned up without any real warning. A strange talking painting just before does not count!”

“These are also wizards, sir. Mr Malfoy and Madame Bones are waiting just outside.”

The Prime Minister sighed crossing the room, “Well I suppose I can’t just send them away.” He stepped over the fallen drawer and sat back down. Having the desk between him and the wizards reassured him, but he still clutched his bottle of Scotch. Suddenly his eyes widened, “Wh...wha...wait a minute! Madame Bones as in Amelia Bones? And Lucius Malfoy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But...but...but, they... I was just told she... is dead and he’s a respectable businessman, I know him well... He’s a wizard?” The Prime Minister grabbed the newly repaired glass, smearing blood on it, to pour himself a drink.

“Sir, your hand please.” The Prime Minister slowly presented his bloody palm to Kingsley. “Episky.” The wounds closed causing the Prime Minister to gasp. Kingsley pointed his wand at the tumbler. “Tergeo.” The smears of blood vanished.

“Err... thanks...” The Prime Minister muttered. Kingsley nodded.

“Shall I show them in now sir?”

The Prime Minister shook his head slightly wanting to say no. “Yes, yes. Do.”

As Kingsley went to fetch the allegedly dead witch and the magical businessman, the Prime Minister poured himself another drink. Very soon he will need a new bottle.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think ^_^


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